


flames

by choshin (brynstar)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynstar/pseuds/choshin
Summary: A drabble detailing the backstory of one of my XIV OCs.





	flames

**Author's Note:**

> once again this is something else i posted elsewhere, but wanted to mirror it as i don't have access to where i posted it any longer. this is kind of rough but i do think the later portion of it shines

A day much like any other. That was how she would've described that day, if not for the fact that she was on her way to be wed. A day of celebration, others would call it, a day of joy and revels to be had by all. But not her. No, she was nervous. Frightened, even, of the mere possibility of something going amiss. She'd grown up in Ul'dah, heard the stories - entire caravans, plucked out of the roads by Amal'jaa, the travelers within never being seen again. They were tempered or killed, so she'd heard, and that was why the roads were unsafe. But her betrothed insisted upon a wedding at the Sanctum of the Twelve, saying the least she deserved was a proper ceremony. They could bring Bjolan along, he told her, that he could have his first proper trip to a different province. Her nerves almost took hold of her, but she agreed. T'would be a fun trip for the whole family, and by the end of it, she would be wed.   
Thus, she let her nerves settle down, let her worries slip, and boarded a caravan with her husband and child alongside her. Ruffling Bjolan's unkempt red-brown hair and flashing him a smile only a mother could give. He was eager to travel, she noted, as once they were on their way he would peek his head out of the window and watch the surrounding rocks and grass and cacti pass him by, giddy all the while. Sveinn was holding her hand in his own, brushing his thumb against it ever so softly. While it was rather ironic that the smaller of the two of them would be the one having a head rest on their shoulder, it was what she chose to do. It was peaceful, comforting, even, to do so. She could feel herself drifting off to sleep, knowing that it would be a long journey ahead of her.   
When she awoke, it wasn't because of her husband gently nudging her awake. No, it was her son's scream that shot her up in her seat, her hand going for the weapon she so instinctually carried with her, only to realize she'd left it behind in Ul'dah. "We won't be needing it on the road, surely?" asked Sveinn, and she agreed. She agreed to all of what he told her, and yet despite ignoring her fears, they were true in the end. An Amal'jaan hand shot in from the window, gripping Bjolan's head and dragging him out, before the back doors were flung open and her husband was dragged out as well. She, however, tried to fight back, her hands immediately going close to her face, a cross thrown out at her assailant, but she was outnumbered, and a clawed finger ran its course down her face, almost blinding her had she not pulled away fast enough. They beat her, kicked her, pummled her with staves and bows before she went down, bloodied and bruised, bordering on slowly losing consciousness. The world went black.   
  
From the black came the flames. The eternal, roaring flame. Ifrit. She could feel the fire rush out towards her, her mind growing hot and her eyes rolling back in her head.   
  
"Burn. Burn the world. Burn Hydaelyn to the ground, and all that stand in the path of your master."   
  
This was her lord's will. She looks to her side, a dagger resting by her foot. She grips it tightly.   
  
"Kill them."   
  
The thought echoes through her mind.   
  
"Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them."   
  
She turns to look at her targets, her prey, her opposition, only to be met with two familiar faces.   
  
Her husband.   
  
Her son.   
  
Her _family_.   
  
The commands of Ifrit blend together with her own thoughts by this point, her mind flooded with nothing but words.   
  
__ Kill them. Save them. Kill them. Save them. Kill them. Save them.   
  
She moves towards Sveinn, sliding the dagger across his neck before beginning to stab him repeatedly in the chest as he bled out.   
_ Free him. Kill him. Save him. Free him. Kill him. Save him. _   
  
She can see the life drain from his eyes, his body surrounded by a pool of blood. He wasn't alive when she killed him, she tells herself. His mind was too far gone.   
  
"Kill."   
  
She then moves to Bjolan. Her son. Her pride and joy, the love of her life. She can remember seeing his face when he was first brought into the world, his cries. She can remember the first time he walked, how proud the two of them were. His first word was her name, and she cried tears of joy when she heard it.   
  
__ Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.   
  
She falls to the floor, gripping the sides of her head in pain. Her head is pounding, a raging inferno burning within it, consuming her.   
  
She screams.   
  
A loud scream, one that she didn't think she could possibly make. One of anguish, of suffering, of heartbreak. One of acceptance.   
  
She gets up, hands shaking as she approaches her son, her baby, gripping his lovely hair one final time, dropping the dagger. She embraces him before gripping the back of his head with one hand and his chin with the other, twisting his head with all of her might.   
  


_ Crack. _

  
  
A sickly sound echoes. He falls to the floor, his last sun slowly setting.    
  
She can feel the fire on her skin now. In her blood, even. She feels herself becoming consumed with it, only to feel smoke rise from her. Her mind is freed. Ifrit stomps away, seemingly appeased by the show she put on for him. Before she can take the dagger she dropped on the ground, and free herself from this suffering, this  _ anguish _ , a staff slams into the side of her skull, sending her, and her hold on consciousness, flying.   
  
She wakes in Ul'dah, in her bed.   
  
She knows what she went through was not a bad dream. She can still feel her husband's blood, dried and crusty on her hands. The city knows as well.   
  
On the streets, she can hear them talking. That she's a monster for killing them, that she should have died with them. They say that she's no longer one with the heart of a wolf, but the bane of them instead.   
  
For the first time in a while, she smiles. They're right, she realizes. She is no longer Wolfsheart.   
  
She is Wolfsbane.


End file.
